In Search of You

In Search of You


It was thirty years to the day since Will Turner had his heart cut out and handed to his wife. Thirty years since he’d last seen a sliver of either, and nine since Jack Sparrow’s last silent light had flickered and died, when the Ferryman dutifully delivered the final remnants of the memories of his own mortal life through the farthest gate.

If Will had lamented words unspoken then, it had been indiscernible as it melded with the emptiness within.

Life, such as it was, had continued, the distilled waters of the other side standing without ebb or tide, the calm becoming infuriating by day, and maddening by night, the emotionless faces of the dearly departed offering no relief in their ludicrous peace of dying.

The port was as empty as it had been thirty, twenty years ago, and Will expected nothing more.

Land, holding nauseatingly sturdy under his foot, promised life, even if it was only for one day, when the Captain of the Flying Dutchman clambered ashore and fixed his eyes towards the town. The sense of moving air, wind, on his face, Will took one step, then another, to a direction which held no meaning with its shops and stores and taverns and housing, yet each one a novelty, a source of wonder, for the man who breathed deep the overlapping scents, held a pear like he’d never held one before, ran a slip of bright-white lace through his fingers in reverent awe, and tasted the malt of the ale like it was manna from the Heavens above.

Will sat alone, oblivious to the people around him casting curious though not friendly glances, indifferent to the fact that he did sit alone, and had someone asked him if he noticed if anything was missing, he’d not had an answer.

To the barkeep it was all the same, the man’s gold was good even if his appearance was something out of the past generation. Just as long as he kept to himself, the drink and food would be flowing.

Unable to tear his eyes from the lively flush on the cheeks of the intact souls, or to stop listening for every chuckle and titter, a raucous laughter comped with a thump on a table, a conversation there, a fevered hackling here, Will devoured his surroundings in a bliss more drunken than ever achieved with mere drink.

Life, so contrary to what it was against whom Will was accustomed, bubbled, flowed and bustled effortlessly around him, seeming to lend itself to him, evoking and awakening, stirring in his veins so that when the new patron strolled in the alehouse, Will almost believed what he was seeing.

The artful wave of a hand and the lift of a chin for a greeting was almost as it should’ve been, the way he crouched over the counter to brashly hog space from what people tend to think as theirs, the flashing of a smile and the cheerful nod upon receiving a bottle for less than anyone else, undoubtedly, sent Will’s mind reeling, and the words long since swallowed tasted bitter on his tongue once more.

The acrid flavour was soon washed away with sweet, biting liquid, together with the suppressed, battled against disappointment of the eyes as they locked with Will‘s - although they were dark, they lacked in resemblance as well as age.

With no particular haste, Will turned his head away, knowing, with no particular excitement, that the younger man - in years if not in appearance - would cross the floor, be seated, and engage Will in a conversation with no particular interest.

As it were, the man strode over with his bottle and tankard, took a seat without asking if Will might mind the company, hauled his elbow on the table, crossed his legs, and poured himself a drink with a heavy-lidded glimpse at his now-obvious drinking-partner, and frayed out an opening to their yarn of talk; “Been out to sea for long, then?”

“Long enough to earn a peaceful day on shore.” Will measured the man over the rim of his cup, satisfied when he settled to giving the response a short laugh instead of asking more specifics.

“Long enough to feel a bit lonely, I gather,” was quipped with a knowing voice and a nonchalant raise of a mug which added not only to Will’s building daydream, but to his suspicion that the man would be talking business soon enough.

To Will’s curious raise of a brow, the man added, “I ain’t much of a sailor, but I’ve been known to raise a mast now and then, and been told I can polish one with the best of them.”

The way the stranger unfolded his legs, turned, and leaned over the table with a sideways glimpse around him as if fearing someone overhearing put the final dot to Will’s quickly setting decision.

Will lowered his tankard and asked casually, despite the thrumming in his vacant chest, before the man had spoken again, “Do you have a place?”

Mentally kicking himself for his too eager, too sharp, too threatening tone at the sight of his companion pulling back with a contemplative suck on his lip, Will averted the eyes weighing his lust for blood, and soothed the raised hair with what he hoped would land the scale on the side of only lust, “If you don’t, I don’t mind paying for a room. I just don’t know the town well enough to know where to look for a nice one. I mean…” Will’s voice trailed off, and he returned his gaze back to meet the ones that were dark, yet not dark enough.

The reins in the smaller-but-not-quite hands again, said hands lifted a cup to be drained, put a cork on a bottle, and beckoned Will with more than a flick of a wrist. “Come on then, I know exactly what you need.” The sudden alertness was gone as fast as it’d appeared, and was replaced with a charming grin and the batting of thick lashes which brushed aside whatever was left of Will’s own trepidation.

With an arm slipped around Will’s waist, the tantalizing Ganymede steered their way.

-----------

Fingers in a loose fist, Will rested his hand and head lightly against the door they’d just walked through, and let himself fully submerge under the vision his mind conjured up, his lips curving into a dreamy smile at the lingering feel of the slender body pressing to his side. With only so much pretending, it would suffice.

Catching himself breathing too shallowly, Will took in a deep breath to even his excitement, and still smiling, relived and changed forever the moment he’d not seized when he’d had the chance; “Will you stay with me?”

The answer came in a long-awaited whisper with a soft brush of fingers to his neck and a seductive flushing of one’s self against his back, “Yes.”

Holding his eyes closed, Will took the man’s hand and brought it to his front, sighing and leaning back, when the sting in his eyes, if there ever was any, subsided and was rubbed away with the deft fingers wrapping through his breeches around his half-hard cock.

Feeling the man lift the hem of his shirt, a sudden rush of something akin to panic made Will swirl around and open his eyes. “No. Leave it.” Will ordered sharply, gripping a slender wrist hard enough to ram his point through.

Soothingly, Will let go with a pacifying smile, and ran his hands to remove the man’s shirt instead. One glimpse of the chest revealed was enough to cause an invigorating thrill course up Will’s neck, close his eyes again, and latch onto a kiss into which he poured his unspoken passion.

Spirits stooping from the confusing sensation of the unfamiliar lips on his being nothing like it should, nowhere near what he needed to be fully immersed into his fantasy, Will parted abruptly, so as to cling to what was left of the initial illusion.

A steadying rearranging of thoughts, and the magic was there again. The proximity of the body was enough to remind him what it was he was yearning. The warmth of Jack which had always seemed to shine like the Sun had given it to him herself.

The trust for which Will had paid dearly in advance might not have been what it was, when such things came naturally, without even a word, but a hap look and whole conversations were had. Still, it was trust, and Will basked in it the best he could.

In silence, he followed as his partner undressed, his own clothes joining the pile on the floor, but his shirt stayed on. There was only one pair of eyes that would ever be allowed to gaze, only one man’s fingers ever given permission to trail the scar that screamed his destiny, and those were of the man’s who’d dealt it so.

When the time would come.

Now, the phantom of that man sank to his knees and greedily sucked Will’s cock between soft lips, drawing a long, pained moan out of him, and before long, head snapped back and the Adam’s apple working up and down his throat, Will breathlessly fucked the mouth in a steady pace.

His mind devoured in a dream come true, Will yearned to touch, to feel, to find what he’d been searching for, his whole soul coiling in on itself at the anticipatory brush of his fingertips on the hair of the head that gave him such pleasure that threatened to swerve him off his feet.

At that first touch, Will bucked back, and could not stop the instinctual hiss and fervent clasp of his hand into another to rub it clean from the impure feel of the combed, unruffled hair.

Finding it impossible to concentrate, the fantastical moment shattered forever when he had to mind touching that hair, Will pulled the man up by the arm, and nodded towards the bed.

The trust which barely held, held nonetheless, and the pair made their way to the awaiting mattress.

Laying on the wide, clean bed, the delights which the man had to share were undeniable and in plain sight.

There were other parts on the mans physique. Parts which, Will convinced himself as he laid next to him, were unpersonifiable, so he let his palms roam over the stranger’s chest, the hard planes under his clavicles, up to the soft flesh of the side of a cheek, his thumb tracing higher to a temple, right below the hairline, then down again, dead middle, lightly across the solar plexus, and finally arriving to the curve of the arse, his memories feverishly filling in the blanks, which poured irresistibly from his subconscious as if they’d been stored for this moment alone - this moment, that he spent with Jack.

That was reassurance enough, and Will’s cock jutted proudly again, the hint of reluctance experienced only seconds before now long forgotten, as he had a true banquet of luxuries splayed before him.

A well-practiced, effortless turn, and Will was most pleasurably accommodated between long legs.

Sitting back on his haunches, Will picked up the vial of oil tossed on the bed, and he wasted no time uncorking it, pouring liberal splash from it on his palm, and slicking his aching cock with rough, fast strokes, almost succumbing to the sirenic lure of telling his paid companion to leave him at once, so that he could make love to Jack’s memory alone, like so many times before.

But the legs pressing to the sides of his calves and the thighs on his knees promised an unprecedented experience, and looking up the man’s spine, Will’s hands moved on their own accord. The colour of the skin before him was a match so perfect Will had dared not to dream.

The things he’d done to Jack when he’d looked out at the night skies, and in the stars found his face, falling in love again, were right here, just waiting to happen. Will’s stomach clenched with anticipation when he stroked a finger to the cleft of the welcoming arse, drawing out an involuntary sigh from his bedmate.

More oil, and the tightness of a man’s body held Will’s finger, while he marveled at the feeling being so different from when he did it to himself. Carefully, like holding his long lost love on the palm of his hand, Will eased another finger in, eliciting a sigh with his maneuvers that matched his hopes, and the way the recipient pushed back to take in more, was truly a respectable act of well honed flam of desire.

Will’s slow movements, the time he took to listen to the man breathing, impeccably hearing only what he wanted to hear, was for Will to summon the decades old tingle which tickled right under the surface of his skin, the parts of him that had been held as if Jack had claimed ownership warm again with the feeling of joy of being owned like that.

What he did, here, was returning the favour. Right here, it wasn’t the emotionless face floating in a lonesome boat, nor the eyes staring into the distance, but a consummation of a promise that had been made only moments too late.

With the echo of the whispered ‘yes’ resounding through him, Will pulled out his fingers, and leaned over, guiding his cock to his beloved’s entrance for the first time in his life, and drowned under the wave of fulfillment without a blink of hesitation.

Reaching around, Will fondled his hired help’s cock, tenderly sweeping his fingers along the length, feeling the protruding veins with the tips, and took a firm hold right by the root. This he knew how to do. And by God, he wanted to give it as well as he could.

The heat, the almost unbearable clutch encompassing his prick demanded movement, rapid, claiming motions inside the body whose rejoinder was rapid, short panting mixed with small gasps, building up to moans as Will fastened his fingers to the narrow hips, boring the tips of his fingers into the flesh deeper with each measured push, until Will had no choice but to bend over the arching back and sprinkle kisses, licks and nips as far as he could reach. Looking through his eyelashes, he could envision pale marks criss-crossing there, and it was that, the laving his tongue over those imaginary scars, which opened the floodgates and ripped open the last latches that held together Will’s composure.

His shuddering, sobbing wail was lost into the skin Will buried his face, but the name he cried was anything but indiscernible, as he chanted it, in utter delight, over again in time of his release. In the bright flashes of unsoiled paradise, where he looked into the eyes of the correct shade of darkness, the lips that he kissed tasted like heaven, the face he cupped, the nipple under his touch, and the hair he delved his fingers into with his last strength, were all the shape of right . “Jack, oh, Jack, Jack. Stay with me!”

It was then, that his world turned black. The pulsing around his sensitive, just spent cock as the stranger came on Will’s hand, adding exultation on indulgence Will had never felt before. And that was, simply, too much.

Coming to, Will found his flaccid cock had slipped out of the man, and with slight reproach, slid off him, ending up to his side, face to face with a person he did not recognize, but who smiled at him with a gleam in his eyes.

Uncertain of what to say, Will was glad, if even for a fraction of time, that the man spoke before him; “Your Jack is a lucky fellow. I haven’t been loved like that since I were weaned from me mum’s bosom.”

As if a bucket of icy water had been poured down his neck, Will shivered, and looked away without saying a word. After only seconds into clearing his thoughts, the slight pinch of inexpressible guilt creeping forth from some crevice of his brain in lead, the man beside him nudged his arm. “Would you get the kerchief out of me pocket, sweet, would hate to wipe meself to such pretty, clean sheets.”

Reaching for the man’s coat from his prone posture didn’t succeed, so Will shambled to his feet in silence and dug his hand into the pocket, his fingers grasping around something much more solid and bumpy than cloth. Frowning, Will pulled the something out, and when the image of what he was looking at finally formed in full colours, he had to brace himself against the table so as not to topple over from the force of it.

“Where did you get these?” Thoughts, tiny little bits of memories scintillated behind Will’s eyes as the beads and the silver ornament caught the sunlight, again and again, next to a grin, glimmered between strands of wild hair, and whisked here and there in the heat of a battle, over and over.

Somewhere in the distance, someone said something about a lucky charm, but it was too far for Will to hear, and the recognition of what had to be the reason for this nonsense pushed onto him so loud that it outdid everything else: ‘Jack’s son. He’s Jack’s son.’

In response to the query whether he’d hand the kerchief, Will rifled the other pocket mechanically, and gave the cloth out without knowing what he was doing. ‘Of course, of course he is! Oh God, Jack please, please forgive me…’

The sigh of relief that the man let out after cleaning himself brought consciousness back into Will’s skull with the piercing understanding that he had to know. For the sake of Father and Son, he had to find out for sure.

Curling fingers to the string of beads, Will steadied himself and attempted on a friendly colour, “What’s your name?” The tremble that coursed through Will’s insides reached his hands that shook visibly, sending the charm jingling, the sound crushing his already asunder integrity into crumbs, rapidly rebuilding in a weighed blanket of numb devastation.

“Will Turner,” said the man in a gust of breath as he languidly stretched himself across the bed, all goods on unabashed display. “Named after me father.”

Either not noticing, or simply not caring how Will the elder had turned pale, how his eyes widened, nor how his hand clutched around the sharp edges of the trinket, the son told his father, “He died before I was born, and me mom remarried soon after. Me stepfather always said it‘s a good, strong name… You fancy another fuck, Mr.?”

----------------